


Exempt from Public Haunt

by purpleandgreen



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1398121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleandgreen/pseuds/purpleandgreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce is not invited to publicity events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exempt from Public Haunt

Pepper Potts thought that it would be a good idea for us to do some outreach work at schools and hospitals. 

Not us.

Them. Certainly not me.

The others.

It’s a good idea for them to do some outreach work she says. Visit schools and talk to kids about the work that we do. Publicity, she affirms, is vital now that SHIELD is disbanded and the world feels undefended. 

People needed to know we were there for them and the Earth.

Not me though.

No-one wants a hulk-out in an elementary school.

It was Nat who first broached the subject.

“We just… we don’t think it’s a good idea”

“I’m too busy anyway.” I snarled, from my desk, without looking up. 

“Oh, ok…” 

“I’ve got too much work on to be visiting kids, Stark’s given me a whole new set of security measures to implement in the Tower now we’re all living in Superhero Central.”

“Well, that’s great,” Nat said, almost breezily, “As long as you’re sure.”  
It wasn’t a question. 

*******************************************************************************************************************************

Tony of course, loved the attention. Loved the fan mail and I don’t think there was a fridge door in the whole of the Tower that didn’t have red and yellow crayon scrawlings attached to it.

The drawings came in thick and fast soon. School children from all over the world sent in their pictures of us. Sometimes it was Cap drawn crude with a brightly coloured shield holding off an entire army, or it was Nat, black and shocking red, shooting aliens out of the sky; lots of drawings of Thor holding Mjollnir aloft with dramatic lightning striking overhead.

Thor did lots of hospital visits, letting sick children crawl all over him and spending time with the ones who were too sick to play roughhousing. His general demeanour portrayed in the press became gentler, and the public began to relax around this visitor from another planet. The Scandinavian countries were captivated by him, and hardly a week went by without him getting an invitation from an archaeological society to speak on all matters Norse.  
I pretended not to notice the absence of pictures of the Other Guy. I just hoped that people had forgotten his existence, or had presumed that he was also a visitor from another planet and had returned there. 

But deep down, it rankled.

I tried to keep these feelings in check; who cared about fame, fortune, public image? Leave those things to Stark, so very good at celebrity, so good at the smooth talk, the patter, the schmoozing. I had my work, and that should be enough.

Shouldn’t it?

Ah, if only I was the ‘Good Doctor’ that everyone referred to. It wasn’t a moniker that I recognised. It’s so hard to look in the mirror when the blood of countless people is on your hands. When you know that the meek and mild persona you portray is a lie. When every fibre of your being rages at the un- fucking-fairness in everything your life has led to, up to this moment, when you hate yourself more than Ross, more than Romanoff, more than anyone could ever, ever hope to. 

Monster.

Oh, thanks Dad. Always ready to kick me when I’m down. 

These are the times when I’m glad I have work. Steve gets over his problems by going on missions, helping people. This is something I understand. It’s always hard to feel sorry for yourself when you’re in a country where people are starving, sick and poverty-stricken.

Helping them makes me believe the lie about Bruce Banner; the lie that I never helped to propagate, but never fought to suppress either - that Bruce Banner is a good man. That Bruce Banner helps people, that he has no ego to speak of and he prefers the shadows to the limelight. That Bruce Banner is a reclusive scientist who wants no recognition for his work, or his intellect. 

You’re too clever for your own good you little bastard.

Still here Dad? You just can’t give me a break can you? 

******************************************************************************************************************************** 

In the words of Douglas Adams, I never could get the hang of Thursdays. It was a Thursday when I lost my notebook. 

I try not to keep all my records on computer, keeping some of my more important work in notebooks. You know the ones, black with red streaks, with a little white space for your name in the top right hand corner. 

This one had all the new codes for the tower in it. 

Searching furiously through my lab, I could only think of the really long and boring lecture I was going to receive from Tony’s head of security, once Happy knew how remiss I’d been with ‘his’ codes. Cursing my carelessness, and drawing a blank in my own lab, I wandered up to Tony’s lab, and started a thorough search.  
Jarvis was soon voicing his dissent at my actions, “Dr Banner, I’m sure Mr Stark would be only too glad to help you in your search for… whatever it is you’re searching for”

“Don’t you dare” I muttered through gritted teeth. I’d never hear the end of it, if Tony AND Happy were to learn of my clumsy loss of Stark Industries property. 

Checking the last drawer in a filing cabinet, I noticed that the sheaf of papers in that particular drawer weren’t as neat as the other drawers. Papers had been positively stuffed into this drawer. 

Suspicious I pulled out a paper and squinted at it, having left my glasses in my own lab.

Green.

I pulled out more pages – they were all green. I stuffed them all under my arm pulling out as many as I could from the drawer, and returned to my lab.

******************************************************************************************************************************** 

My notebook was in the pocket of my jacket. 

Of course.

You little bastard, haven’t I told you to be more careful with your things?

Yes Dad.

Reaching for my glasses, I started to look through the papers I’d found. 

Each one was a picture of the Hulk, the Other Guy, drawn in crayon, colored pencil or Sharpie. There he was as large as life, drawn by hundreds and hundreds of little hands. Ripping buildings apart, waving his clumsily rendered fists to the sky, in some he had red fangs, dripping blood, in others he was crushing people underfoot while crowds of people fled in the opposite direction, a monster, everywhere green and red. It made me dizzy to look at them and I realised suddenly that my breathing had become laboured, my throat constricted and I stood up abruptly. 

“Dr Banner, are you alright?”

“Jarvis, can I get some air in here please?”

“Certainly Dr Banner, would you like me to alert the medical team, or have you escorted to your room?”

“NO! No, Jarvis, I’m ok, just air, please?” 

“You’ll understand that Mr Stark only hid these to save your feelings?”

“Don’t make excuses for Stark’s behaviour Jarvis, you’re better than that.”

As the aircon came on, the sheaf of drawings on my desk blew all around the lab, and as I bent to pick them up one caught my eye.

It was a picture of a man lying in bed sick. His face was drawn with a turned down mouth, and written in Hindi was one word above his head saying simply ‘Daddy’.

Underneath was another picture, a man with scribbled brown curls, with brown clothes and a brown bag, giving a huge pill to the man in the bed. The sick man was now smiling and another figure was bringing him a bowl of food to eat.

Underneath again written in Hindi, was a message that simply said, ‘To Doctor, thank you for making my Daddy well’

That’s the one I keep on my fridge.


End file.
